Mac's Toaster
by problematick
Summary: A four percent return on personal investments maynot sound like a whole lot. But it just might get Mac what she always wanted. [Post-ep: Four Percent Solution - rating for language.]


AN: Hey, I wrote this a little while back, probably right after the eppie aired. I hadn't got around to typing it, and I decided to make a little post-ep story. So this is Mac and trying to make her investments; working out what McCool said. I ignore a few things and make up a bit as we go along. Enjoy.

Spoiler: Four Percent Solution -Nothing past it...- a follow up, but not directly after.

Disclaimer: I own a few taped JAG eppies. That's about it. I have currently some change to my name. Sue me. ::shrug::

* * *

1832 Local  
Mac's Apartment  
Georgetown, Virginia 

It had been about a month since the accident on Christmas Eve now. And still those memories came back to her in flashes; at the office, at home, in the car. Not just of the accident, either. Bits and pieces of her 'session' with Commander McCool floated around and refused to leave her alone. Tonight was especially bothersome, being a Saturday with nothing to do.

_Think of me as your loan officer. I'm offering you a 4 percent return on your personal investments. A satisfying conclusion to your former relationship, a bright outlook on a future one. Even a shot at having a family._

_Stay positive._

The calm voice would not let her thoughts move from its words, so she took up a pen and pad of paper. She may never see Webb again, or know where he is anymore, but she had to do something. This anger was festering...unpleasant to say the least. Mac remembered the words of her "loan officer" therapist. She'd heard somewhere that writing letters to express your feelings often lead to released stress. Once again the cynical Mac in her mind said it was a load of crap, but she tried it out anyway.

Dear Clay,

When we said our goodbyes, I had to leave it like that; otherwise I wouldn't have been able to suppress the overwhelming urge to beat you to a bloody pulp right then and there any longer. I still don't think you have any kind of understanding of what you did to me. Even if I look at 'our' sacrifice to be for a greater good, I see no reason why you would use me as BAIT, trust your mother over me, and then still expect me to treat you like some damn hero when you decide to come home. You lied to me, even before that. Why go to such great lengths to deceive me, Clay? After putting yourself in my place at Paraguay until you almost died, why would you treat me like nothing? And that was only when you were around! Hell, I saw you what, two, three months total in that almost year we were together? Not to mention how we spent that time. Half of it arguing, for one. I found it not just inconsiderate but rude and downright insulting when you drank around me without a second thought. Sure, I've been around people who drink. And I should be able to resist the temptation, fine. But I should have kicked your sorry ass to the curb when I realized you had a problem. You have no idea how many times I almost picked up a glass of whatever you were drinking after you passed out. You said you loved me, Clay. I can't turn down a man who's willing to say the words. I am willing, however, to turn down a lying, cheating, heart-breaking bastard. Seeing as how that description fits you pretty damn well in my mind, then it's alright. I could've had a family with you, Clay. There was a possibility, though slim. I might've married you, and little spooksters could've been running around. I might've learned to love you, if you loved enough for the both of us. But when you lie...and fake your own death...I can't understand. How could you? It wasn't just once; it was over and over again. Especially your last one. Just one **huge** deception in two parts, huh? Grand finale I suppose. I don't know how much more I can say, Webb. Yes, we're back to strictly professional terms should we ever meet again. I hope for your sake we don't, because these scars of hurt aren't going away with a band-aid and a kiss. Such a betrayal on your part wrenches my heart in two. If I really cared that much to begin with, at least. Goodbye, Clayton Webb. Get the hell out of my life, away from my soul and out of my heart from now until eternity you slimy son of a bitch.

Sincerely,

Colonel Sarah 'Mac' Mackenzie.

Mac almost hated to admit it, but she did feel better. She'd feel **great** if she could just find the slippery bastard and sock it to him. Now **that** would be a satisfying end to her old relationship. Mac knew that the point of these letters was not to send them, but in Webb's case, she might eventually make an exception. Sighing, she put down her pen.

_/It's a start,/_ she thought after signing and sealing the note. She placed the letter in her night stand and climbed into bed.

_/It's a start./

* * *

_

AN: First off, I apologize for any mistakes or typos; this is fresh off the press - just typed it and put it up. Next: How am I doin'? I'll try to do each thing they mentioned in the eppie. Yes, I tape. ::runs to watch:: Leave a review on your way out. Thanks!


End file.
